


Cold

by Quinny_555



Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [7]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Kidnapped Malcolm Bright, Kidnapped Sam Winchester, Kidnapping, M/M, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: The first thing that Malcolm noticed when he regained consciousness was the cold metal encircling his wrists. Sure, he wore restraints to bed, but they were leather. They got warm in the night, sometimes uncomfortably so. These, in stark contrast, were frigid. The next moment everything came rushing back.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Sam Winchester
Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636342
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> A short prompt fill for Rain. I hope y'all enjoy :).

The first thing that Malcolm noticed when he regained consciousness was the cold metal encircling his wrists. Sure, he wore restraints to bed, but they were leather. They got warm in the night, sometimes uncomfortably so. These, in stark contrast, were frigid. The next moment everything came rushing back.  _ Cold.  _ His eyes flew open. 

“Malcolm?” he heard, turning to look at Sam. They had been taken. His latest investigation had led him to one Richard Allmen, also known as the Axeman of New York City. 

_ Malcolm could feel the arm of his captor crushing his windpipe, cutting off his air. He stared at Sam, who froze at the sight of Malcolm being held at gunpoint. He wanted to yell at him to run, to escape.  _

_ “Put down the gun, big boy,” Richard growled, digging the barrel of his gun into Malcolm’s temple. Malcolm made a choked noise when Sam did as he was told.  _ No. __

_ “Okay, just take it easy,” Sam said, putting his hands up. Malcolm felt the suspect tug his handcuffs off of his belt, throwing them to Sam.  _

_ “Put them on.” Sam avoided Malcolm’s desperate eyes as he reached down and grabbed them. “Not in front.” As soon as the lock clicked into place Malcolm felt the butt of the gun slam into his head and then nothing.  _

“Sam,” he whispered, scanning his boyfriend. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, I uh,” he cleared his throat. “I’m good. How’s your head? That can’t be fun.” He grimaced in sympathy. Malcolm reached up and gingerly touched the sore spot, his hand coming into contact with the tacky, half-dried blood. He cringed, memories of pulling his shaking, blood-soaked hand away from his abdomen flooded his mind. He tried to shake it off, squeezing his eyes shut.  _ Not Watkins. He’s not Watkins. _

“Yeah, no, it’s not,” he managed, looking back at Sam. “But I'll live.” 

“Good,” Sam said, nodding, “That’s good.” He looked down at the chains connecting his wrists to the floor and pulled up, testing the amount of give available. He got to his knees and moved in Malcolm’s direction. Malcolm realized that his chains also had a decent amount of give and mimicked Sam. They met somewhere in the middle, both at the end of their chains. 

Sam leaned down, subconsciously putting himself on Malcolm’s level. Not for the first time, Malcolm reflected on how lucky he was that Sam always tried to compensate for the height difference. He leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder, relaxing slightly despite the circumstances. 

They stayed that way for a while. When there were no windows or clocks Malcolm found it impossible to quantify time. The whole situation was familiar to him in a dreadful way, but there was one thing keeping him sane: Sam. 

“How long do you think we’ve been here?” Malcolm whispered into the silence of the room. He felt Sam shift. 

“Since you woke? About two hours and fifteen minutes.” Malcolm blinked. 

“Wait, how can you tell?” he asked, dumbfounded. Sam shrugged. 

“I guess I've just always been able to estimate earth time well,” he replied. Malcolm wasn't about to ask him what exactly he meant by “earth time”. Dean had once mentioned that time in Hell was different from time on earth. 

“I would kill for that talent,” he muttered before frowning. “Not literally of course,” he added, causing Sam to chuckle. The lock on the other side of the door slid out of place suddenly and Malcolm jumped away from Sam, putting space between them.  _ Don't show weakness. _ The door swung open and Richard entered, ax resting on his shoulder. It was exactly the way Watkins… 

“Hello you two,” he greeted, an undertone of smugness in his voice. Neither man responded and he sighed. “Tough crowd.” 

“Where are we?” Sam demanded. 

“I wouldn't worry about that if I were you,” he said. “You won't be escaping. Besides, I would worry more about  _ why _ you're here.” 

“Why?” Malcolm asked quietly. The shaking in his hand was audible as it rattled the chains. Richard turned a predatory grin on him. 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he growled as he stepped forward to loom over Malcolm. Clearly this guy wanted him scared, submissive. Malcolm decided to play to what he wanted, cowering. 

“Back off,” Sam said firmly, trying to sound calm. 

“What are you going to do about it?” Superiority complex. The need to challenge anyone he perceives as a threat.  _ “Luckily for you, this isn't something that you have to do; only something that you have to endure.”  _ He shook his head. Now was not the time. Sam stayed silent but glared. This seemed to satisfy Richard, who turned with a laugh. “That’s what I thought.” The door slammed shut behind him. Sam immediately turned to Malcolm. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. Malcolm nodded, straightening up. 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm just- yeah, I'm fine.” He closed his eyes, trying his best to shake off the memories. He could usually do it. That is, under  _ normal  _ circumstances. He wasn't normally chained up in a basement by a psychopath. 

Sam scooted closer to Malcolm, who did the same. Sam was always warm. It was great for Malcolm, who was freezing all the time. 

_ Malcolm was colder than normal. He knew it was the bloodloss. And the lack of food. He was also pretty sure that the room itself was cold. Cold. That was a word he had come to associate with John Watkins. His stare. His demeanor. His smile. It was all frosty. Just the thought of the man chilled him to the bone. He shuddered, gagging against the ripple of pain the movement caused. His vision was blurring, but-  _

Malcolm burrowed further into Sam’s strong arms, shuddering against the lingering cold. Sam held him tighter and Malcolm relaxed into the embrace. Sam was here. He would be fine because Sam was here. 

“Thank you,” Malcolm whispered. Sam tilted his head. 

“For?” 

“Protecting me. I know I don't say it much, but I really appreciate, well, everything. I know it can't exactly be easy,” he muttered with a wry chuckle. Sam leaned down and kissed the top off his head. 

“You're right, it’s not easy,” he said with a smile. “But I wouldn't have it any other way.” Malcolm laughed.  _ God _ , he was lucky. 

Malcolm opened his mouth to respond when he heard a door slam in the distance. His mouth snapped shut and his eyes were drawn to the door. His shoulders tensed and he felt Sam’s arm tighten around him. Footsteps echoed down the hall and Malcolm frowned.  _ Multiple  _ pairs of footsteps. As far as he was aware, or had profiled, there was only one kidnapper. So either his profile was wrong, and they were in trouble, or… 

The door swung open, wood splintering under the force as it hit the wall. Sam curled around him to shield him from any flying debris. 

“NYPD!” he heard JT shout as multiple officers stormed the room. Malcolm peaked over Sam’s shoulder, since it didn't seem like the larger man would be willing to move from his defensive position at the moment. He felt the ice in his chest thaw further as he caught sight of his team members. 

“Bright!” Gil shouted and Malcolm grinned at him. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing. Sam moved himself off of the smaller man, allowing Gil to come forward and unchain them. It’s lucky, Malcolm reflected, that their kidnapper had happened to use police-grade handcuffs. The universal lock was a lifesaver. 

“I missed you, kid,” Gil said as he pulled him into a quick hug. Malcolm smiled. 

“Yeah, I missed you too,” he said and pulled back. “Did you get him?” Gil chuckled. 

“Yeah, we got him,” he said with a shake of his head. 

“Great, they got him,” Malcolm heard Sam say as he stood. “Now let’s get out of here.” His tone was playful, but Malcolm could see how tense he still was. Sam offered him a hand he let his boyfriend pull him to his feet. 

“Yeah, let’s do that.” he made a face, repressing a shudder as he looked around. The more he thought about it the more he was itching to get out of there. Malcolm didn't look back as they left. 


End file.
